


every day like a treasure

by casualbird



Series: closer to fine 'verse [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Coming of Age, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Post-Graduation, Sharing a Bed, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, let daichi be the little spoon for fucksake, trans daichi agenda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:40:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28989378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: “Kou,” he mumbles, so sleep-stained and muffled that it barely comes away. But it does, and Koushi hears it, loves it, secrets it away. Kisses, again, the nape of Daichi’s neck.He used to count the times he’d moved Daichi enough to call him that, all dreamy, sweetly smug. He’s lost track of it by now, but it must be in the dozens. It’s only a months-old thing, at once novel and commonplace, like a household with a new baby.Never ones to rest on their laurels, Daichi and Suga spend the morning after graduation looking forward.
Relationships: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Series: closer to fine 'verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126556
Comments: 22
Kudos: 56
Collections: stories that touched me





	every day like a treasure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [this one's for ME](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=this+one%27s+for+ME).



> daichi and suga are really out here with the 'proposed on the football field on the last day of high school' energy

Someday, Koushi’s home is going to smell like cheap body wash, like worn cotton bedsheets, like skin. Someday, not far from now, this scent will be the place he hangs his hat at the end of the day.

It’s already where he hangs his heart, with his lips against the nape of Daichi’s neck, with his abdomen settled into the curve of his back, his head laid against the single pillow that they aren’t quite managing to share. This morning, this alarmless thing that only came with the streaming of the sunlight through the window, with the muffled clamor of Daichi’s little siblings downstairs.

Daichi is still silent, breathing slow and deep and even. Koushi isn’t sure if he’s awake, but there’s no earthly need to rush him. The world won’t come in without knocking.

They graduated yesterday, under the pale spring sun. They whooped and hollered, posed for half a hundred pictures, embraced their friends as tightly as they could bear. _What a long, strange trip it’s been,_ Koushi thinks. They both deserve their rest.

Perhaps Daichi more than he.

After the assembly, Daichi wept over his locker in the club room, his fingers tensed white in the bunch of a ratty old sweatstained t-shirt. Koushi held him, crooned to him, and if there were teardrops on Daichi’s shoulder when he pulled away, neither of them said a word about it. They just smiled to each other, wan and watery, and Daichi let Koushi rub out his tear tracks with tender little strokes of callused thumbpads.

They walked to Daichi’s house together after, finally brave or tired enough to make the journey hand in hand.

And now here they are. Koushi murmurs the story, or something like it, into the washed-dry skin of Daichi’s neck, the short sleek strands of his hair.

Daichi stirs, huffing a little breath, shifting easy in Koushi’s hold. Generally he’s one who wakes groaning, grasping desperate for the fraying edge of sleep. He is eighteen, he functions fine on his usual five hours, his vigor the dependable rev of an old motor. But it’s never quite enough, not for all he does.

Not for all he used to do, before yesterday.

This morning--is it still the morning?--Daichi comes softer into consciousness, sighing, grumbling only very lightly.

“Kou,” he mumbles, so sleep-stained and muffled that it barely comes away. But it does, and Koushi hears it, loves it, secrets it away. Kisses, again, the nape of Daichi’s neck.

He used to count the times he’d moved Daichi enough to call him that, all dreamy, sweetly smug. He’s lost track of it by now, but it must be in the dozens. It’s only a months-old thing, at once novel and commonplace, like a household with a new baby.

An absent, fey little smile--he wonders if Daichi can feel the curl of it against his skin. Knows he’ll feel his breath, the drag of his lips when he whispers _good morning._

“G’mornin’,” manages Daichi, and Koushi laughs, gentle and soft-small and easy.

“Yeah? How are you doing?” His tone lists into concern, just a little bit. He knows his Daichi will be fine, that he always is. That it is just his way, to be always _alright._

That he doesn’t need to be, here. Koushi hopes he understands that. Maybe he does a little better, now.

Daichi sighs. There’s a weight in it--he sounds older, always, when he sighs. Looks a little older, maybe. Once they rise, Koushi will have to take a moment to study his face.

He knows that he does, himself. He saw it in the mirror, yesterday morning, when he got ready for school. It wasn’t something he could place, but it was there, just a little whisper of a thing.

“D’you think the kids’ll be alright?” It comes out muffled, half-trembling where it falls against the mattress. Daichi slackens slightly when he says it, like it’s been in him for too long, tangling muscle and vein.

Koushi’s fingers shift, drift to pet at his bare collarbone. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, Dai, they’re gonna be just fine.” He says it easy as his own address, as a recitation, something that he knows.

Hopefully, Daichi hears it that way too.

“Hmph,” he mumbles, but it’s more breath, more morning blear than chagrin. He nestles in a bit, aligns his spine with Koushi’s breastbone. “But Kou, they’re just so _stupid.”_

A little laugh, then, hidden away in Daichi’s nape. “Yep. Our boys,” he says, lilting wistful. It’s supposed to be a joke, but it overshoots, lists more toward truth than that. “They’ve all grown up so beautiful and dumb.”

There’s a pause. It’s a thing that Koushi recognizes, that he’s known well and loved. Daichi, he thinks, must be chewing his cheek, must be wearing that face that lies and says he’s never been amused by anything, ever.

He can’t see Daichi’s face, can’t see the narrow of his eyes, the early crease between his brows. But he knows it, all the same.

“You’re not making me feel any better,” says Daichi, and Koushi gently giggles. He thinks it mustn’t be true, not with the way Daichi lies so loose-limbed against him.

Still. He needs to be seen to, to be bolstered, reassured. And that is what Koushi is for.

“You put Ennoshita in charge,” he offers, as if Daichi’s forgotten. “And he’s not stupid.” Far from it. It’s the choice that he’d have made, himself. A choice that he advised on, months back when it was still among his love’s little agonies.

Daichi nods, just a little, hair shushing soft against the pillowcase. It tickles Koushi’s nose.

Maybe some other time he’d say something about it. He doesn’t, though.

Another sigh from Daichi, then. There’s so much weight in them.

“Fair enough,” he says, the way he always does because Koushi’s always right. “I guess I just… didn’t want to leave them.”

Koushi holds him tighter. “I don’t want to, either.”

They’re quiet, for a while, after that. They do little more than breathe, out of sync but with the same slowness, the same searching. They hold, and in their turn are held.

Koushi’s fingers drift, the pads of them light under Daichi’s clavicle, tracing the bone. And then down from there, careful not to touch the swell of his bare breasts--just brushing, stroking along the hair that’s beginning to thicken on his chest. He’s loved Daichi’s body since he met it, since he saw the one first-year boy who wasn’t lank and rangy, _but._

He’s proud of this, of him. Is allowed to be, since he helps with the injections. It’s not as if Daichi’s the type to cow, he can do them himself, but it’s the principle, Koushi thinks, of the thing.

Oh, how proud of him he is. For becoming the man that he is, for all that that has made him. He thinks of the day they first met, three weeks into their first year, when Daichi had finally ground the bureaucracy down, convinced the administration to let him join the boys’ team.

He thinks about the handshake, the faltering tenacity in Daichi’s smile. Thinks of how he didn’t know it then, but--well, it’s a funny thing. One never knows the day one’s life begins. It’s a thing that exists only in retrospect, in sepia-stained memory.

“My handsome man,” he sighs, and Daichi almost laughs.

“I try.”

“You succeed, you know. With flying colors! There’s nothing that makes me feel more smug than when I’m hanging off your arm.” It’s true. He doesn’t get to do it often, only when they’re alone, or in company just with the team. In dim movie theaters, sometimes, but they rarely get the time for proper dates.

More than that, though, it just makes him feel safe.

“And don’t I know it.” Daichi huffs, and Koushi swears that he can hear the smile in it. “You’ve got plenty to be smug about though, don’t you? Getting into that school you wanted.”

If he knows Daichi’s smiling, maybe he knows the same of Koushi. Maybe he just feels the appling of his cheek, the soft satisfied shush of his breath.

“And we can’t forget about you,” he says lightly, softly into Daichi’s skin. “You always were good at putting out fires.”

“Don’t interrupt me,” Daichi murmurs, his voice sleep-roughened and raspy and utterly without heat. “I was gonna say more. But I s’pose you’re right.” 

“I’m always right,” says Koushi, “and you love me.” He’s smug about that, too, wide and deep and warm like the space between Daichi’s sheets. 

“Damn, I sure do. I sure do.” There’s a long-suffering air to it, something that Koushi knows, something that just means it’s true, truer every day.

It’s a familiar tenderness, like the old outsize sweatshirt of Daichi’s he stole, like curry buns after practice. Like a look across the classroom or the gym, weighed down with understanding.

It won’t stop Koushi’s mischief, though, not ever. “Oh? Then prove it.”

“I haven’t kicked you out of this bed yet, what more do you want?”

A pale little smile, feline. “Surprise me.”

And he does, turning soft and slow, careful not to crush his Koushi’s arm. One hand comes to light on his lean shoulder, thumbpad circling just above his sleep shirt’s stretched out collar. It’s for moments like this that Koushi loves that shirt so much, and for the simple fact that it lives in the top drawer of Daichi’s dresser, that it smells like him and off-brand detergent. That he only wears it here, to rest at Daichi’s side.

He softens as that hand drifts down and up again, past the shirt’s hem, past his hipbone to lay in the lean dip of his waist. It’s another mundane little miracle, the feel of Daichi’s palm on his bare skin, the warm whisper of breath against his face.

Daichi kisses him, then, square in the center of his forehead. Lingers for a while, nosing gently at starlit hair.

“What were you gonna say?” Koushi asks faintly, when he draws away. He doesn’t let him get far, either, leaning in to nudge their brows together, to nuzzle the ends of their noses.

“Hmn? Oh,” Daichi mumbles, “it’s...”

But Koushi only smiles, lays a peck on the bevel of Daichi’s cheekbone. It’s _what?_ He must know, and Daichi understands this, shakes his head a little. They’re still close enough to brush past one another--it tickles a bit, but Koushi won’t let that distract him from his prize.

And bless Daichi, for being good enough to give it to him. He sighs, soft and tidal and still so deeply ballasted, weighed down with love and just a tinge exasperated. “I,” he begins, and then falters.

Amends. Sets his words straight, lined up neat like a starting rotation.

“I’m looking forward to fighting fires, to doing the whole. _Next_ thing.” he says, and if there is gravel in his voice it is only like a pebble beach, washed smooth and long-standing and steady. “Ugh, Kou, I don’t even know if this makes sense.”

“It will,” Koushi insists, as soft as the feathering of his hair, “go ahead.”

“Well, I--” He breathes, dips his head to rest in the crook of Koushi’s neck. “I want there to be a day--and it doesn’t have to be soon. But.”

Against his skin, Koushi can feel the work of Daichi’s jaw. He clasps him tighter in response, lets lean fingers stroke down his sturdy spine.

“I keep thinking about a day when we go to a department store. It doesn’t matter which one. But we-- we buy a mid-range rice cooker, the two of us, and we take it back to our place. Because we’ll have one.”

“And I think that if I’m not happy by then, that’s when I will be.”

Koushi digs deep, grasping for the force of will to keep from crying. His eyelashes wet, he isn’t sure if he’ll make it. They hold each other, and his palm shields the small of Daichi’s back, and for a moment it’s all they can do to lay like that.

No curfews, no watchful eyes. A table to feed friends at, a sofa to curl up on. Secondhand, maybe, but it’ll be theirs. He pictures Daichi’s fingers in his hair, a bottle of silver dye, a bathroom mirror. Some sanctuary, someplace set apart where they can lay together, learn in all senses of the phrase how love is made.

“What color will the curtains be?” he asks, and if it comes out a little weak, Daichi doesn’t say anything.

Just shakes his head, a tiny motion that’s felt rather than seen. “Oh, I don’t know. We’ll probably have blinds. It won’t be the fanciest place.”

“Cozy, then.”

“Yeah. But I. That’s what I want. Someday I want somewhere that’s ours.” Is Koushi imagining the crumble of his voice? It doesn’t matter, either way he would kiss the crown of Daichi’s head, would sweep that hand soothing across his back. Would coo at him, soft and absent as it glimmered through his mind.

He doesn’t think he ought to say what he says next, but he’s never been quite as sensible as Daichi.

“Do you have any idea, Dai,” he asks, gentle, heedless of the hair that catches on his lips, “how close I am to asking you to marry me right now?”

But Daichi only laughs, a precious, breathy sound he only makes when he’s certain nobody else is listening. 

“Are you now,” he says, and though it’s flat it lists toward playfulness, an audible, tangible smile.

Koushi shakes his head, giggles soft in the back of his throat. “Well, no. I think it’ll take a miracle of scheduling to get me _and_ Asahi _and_ Kiyoko _and_ Takeda-sensei free for a whole afternoon of ring shopping, and it’ll be a cold day in hell when I propose without a ring.”

“Takeda-sensei?”

“Of course, there’s no way I’m getting ripped off if he comes along. And also I really can’t afford it, yet, and I can’t for a while now because you’ll be expecting it. And also I don’t know your ring size.”

“I see,” muses Daichi, sagely. “Well. You let me know when you need to measure my finger.”

“Mmhm. And you tell me when you want to start apartment hunting.”

“Won’t be for a while yet,” he says, and Koushi knows. Knows that they are still _those crazy kids._ It’s all as aspirational as his degree, his teaching license is, all faraway and dreamy, out of reach.

But not impossible. Not unreachable. It’s so possible it _aches,_ settles in the slipstream of his veins.

Still, he thinks, nestling back down into the mattress, into the bow of Daichi’s body, still. How can he be anything but satisfied, anything but utterly, irrepressibly _delighted_ with what he has here, now?

**Author's Note:**

> hi hi hi hi hiiiiii!!! i really hope you enjoyed this--it was a pain in the ass to write because it had to be so Slow and Contemplative, but i loved it just the same! i really, really needed trans daichi in my life.
> 
> the title comes from jim croce's time in a bottle, which is the greatest love song ever penned and i entreat you to go listen to it [this instant!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dO1rMeYnOmM)
> 
> anyway, please let me know what you thought of this, and come hang out with me on [twitter (18+)](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you like, since i'm always in need of more hq pals!
> 
> be well! much love!  
> -mye


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